


Vanguard for the Disowned Runaway

by aTasteofCaramell



Series: Requiem [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, POV Sirius Black, Pre-Series, Relationship Study, Sad Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black is an emotional wreck, Young Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 01:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13112754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: Sirius Black had three friends. They each saved him in their own way.





	Vanguard for the Disowned Runaway

Sirius Black had three friends. They each saved him in their own way.

Peter became the antidote to his parents’ lies. In his parents’ eyes he could do no right: in Peter’s eyes, he could do no wrong.  He would come to school, ears ringing with their rebuffs and with Regulus’s snide comments, fighting the desire to cave, to hide away, to curl up and _give_ up, but he knew Peter would come looking, eyes shining with anticipation, eager to hear Sirius’s witty remarks and frequent laughter, his nonchalant recklessness and smooth aplomb. And just as it had been easy to stand up to his parents when he had Regulus to look out for, it was easy to straighten his shoulders and be the icon that Peter thought he was, rather than risk seeing the confusion and disappointment in his eyes. He had failed Regulus; hadn’t spoken loud enough; hadn’t denounced the lies adamantly enough. He refused to fail Peter.

He knew he had to be better—he had to do better—he _could_ do better—he _was_ better—and maybe it was just an inflation of his ego, but it felt like so much more. Peter was the niggling reminder in his side; the constant shadow that demanded the best of him, believed in the most impressive of him, took joy in every rebellious thing Sirius did. Peter reminded him of his own defiance and his own determination to break out from the mold, to reject it, to smash it to pieces, to scream to the world that told him he _must_ that he _would not_. And every time, just when he thought he might accede some ground—just a little—just for the sake of rest—just for this one time—Peter would come along and say, “The _nerve_ of them. I don’t know how you do it, Sirius.” And Sirius would straighten up and flash him a grin because he didn’t know how he did it either, but he did, and he would continue to.

*

Remus became his Calming Draught. If Peter reminded him to be himself, Remus reminded him not to lose himself. In the most turbulent of times, in the wildest storms of emotion, Remus was there, a quiet and potent force, an iron pole dug deep into the ground to which Sirius could cling when the wind threatened to snatch him away; he was the lifesaving vine that caught him as the earth crumbled to quicksand beneath his feet. The most formidable gentleness, the most unyielding kindness. A soft answer in response to anger, an unwillingness to judge too quickly. He interfered very rarely with Sirius’s impulses, but when he did, it was with a single word.

“Sirius.”

When blinding rage threatened to overtake him, the kind that choked away his breath, set fire to his blood, released the darkest parts of him, Remus appeared.

“Sirius.”

And the rage would not leave, the desire to lash out and maim and destroy would not diminish, but he would look at Remus and regain control, walking towards him and away from disaster.

But then, those times when Sirius threw himself headlong into chaos, when he raged at and challenged fate itself, when he acted blindly, without regard to his own well-being—and sometimes intentionally against it—Remus was always close behind, plunging into danger without hesitation, ready to pull him back at the last minute, and even more ready to throw himself in harm’s way as Sirius’s shield if need be.

He was silent understanding, the clairvoyant of his troubles, the Seer that somehow always knew just how upsetting the last Howler had been. He never offered remedies, he never attempted to distract, he never asked to see. He simply was. He was the wisdom of the ages, someone who questioned without prying, without expecting answers, who could somehow get to the very depths of Sirius’s soul with a simple statement of truth. He was pain and he was the numbing of it. He was a walking paradox, the quiet one who appeared so innocuous and yet existed so impossibly; an unlikely frame for the howling savagery that burst forth every full moon. The studious one, the one so constantly polite, the one who put himself together modestly and cleanly, existed in the midst of Sirius’s insanity with complete serenity.

*

James became his brother. He didn’t know when it happened. At first James was simply the taste of rebellion: a Gryffindor to the core and, more importantly, a member of one of the Pureblood families that annoyed his parents the most. After that, he was a wealth of information: a well of knowledge that Sirius soaked up eagerly. An outspoken friend of Muggle-borns, a self-defined enemy of all sorts of discrimination. He was a new world, one where Right and Wrong were clear and defined and completely opposite from what the loudest voices in Sirius’s life told him at home and Sirius drank it all in, relieved to have respite from the barbs of his family, ecstatic to have confirmation that his own shadowy longings were not impossible.

James was righteousness personified, a careful and ruthless judge. He believed in actions, not heritage, and Sirius felt the black mark on his soul being burned away, even as his parents screamed at him from across the country, even as Regulus first pleaded with him, then sneered at him, then stopped talking to him, then started ignoring him altogether, and Sirius realized he didn’t need him, or any of them, anymore. James filled the hole that Regulus had left to overflowing. James reminded him that who he became was not up to his blood, or his family, or his own uncertainty—it was up to _him._ James was his last bulwark and first confidant. James was laughter in the sky, James was optimism and determination and utter self-confidence. James was his idol, his hope for the future, his faith and trust that the future could be good. James knew every single detail of every single Howler. He was his partner in crime and in good. He was his twin in outrage, always indignant at all the right times and about all the right people.

And James trusted him in return; valued him without hesitancy; believed him without reservation. He welcomed Sirius into his house without a single question when Sirius showed up in his front yard in the middle of one summer night, swaying and staggering, his trunk grating against the ground as he dragged it, too utterly pissed to stand up straight much less use magic; and James sat next to him on the floor with him later the same night, saying nothing as he became violently ill, vomiting liquor all over his bedroom’s polished hardwood. And Sirius didn’t even have to ask; James knew, and when they went downstairs the next morning he said simply, “Mum, Dad, Sirius’ll be staying with us now. Is that all right?” And then James’ parents simply accepted him without prying and fussed over him to his own annoyance, and gave him and James the exact same speech before the following school year, instructing them on how often to write and how they must not get into any (more) trouble and be sure to study hard. And then as an early 17th-birthday present, they unveiled a large beautiful motorbike and James said proudly, “I enchanted it myself!” and Sirius couldn’t speak.

And then later in the year, when Sirius realized he hadn’t gotten a single Howler, and when he mentioned this to James, James said coolly, “Good. They’ve no right to speak to my brother like that.” And he turned away and buried his face in his arms, and James pretended not to notice that he’d burst into tears.

And he knew without a doubt that he was well and truly burnt away from his old family, but he’d gained something so much more valuable in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Vanguard: The foremost position in an army or fleet advancing into battle.


End file.
